California -- Fiction; Mines and mineral resources -- Fiction; Sierra Nevada (Calif. and Nev.) -- Fiction; Western stories
"Exactly," she said. "You must carry out Peter Drew's instructions to
the letter."
"But I can tell _you_ what my answer to Dad's lawyers is going to be.
I--"
"Don't!" she cried, raising a protesting hand. "Not a word to me. My
responsibility ceased when I placed the envelope in your hands. I'm no
longer concerned in the matter. That is--" she hesitated.
"Yes, go on."
"Until after you have made your report to the attorneys," she added.
"Then, of course, I'll--I'll be sort of curious to know what your answer
is."
"Then I'll come straight back to tell you," he promised. "And--Why,
what's the matter!"
She had leaned forward suddenly in her saddle, and with wide eyes was
looking down the precipice. Then before she could answer there came to
Oliver's hearing the sound of a distant shot from the cañon.
Now he saw a puff of white smoke above the willows on the river bank, a
thousand feet below them. Then a second, and by and by another ringing
report reached them, and the echoes of it went loping from wall to wall
of the cañon.
"Merciful heavens!" cried Jessamy. "It's Old Man Selden! He's shot! Look
at him reel in his saddle! Oh, horrors!... There he goes down on the
ground!... But he's not killed! There--he's on his feet and shooting!"
Oliver, with open mouth, was staring down at the tragedy that had
suddenly been staged for them in the river bed. Now several puffs of
white smoke hung over the trees, and riders rode hither and thither like
pigmies on pigmy horses. Now and then a stream of flame spurted
horizontally, and at once another answered it. Then up barked the
reports, followed by their mocking echoes.
"It's come! It's come!" wailed Jessamy. "Obed Pence, likely as not, has
opened fire on Old Man Selden, and the boys are after him. Look--there's
Chuck and Bolar and Jay and Winthrop--and, oh, most all of them! It's a
general fight. Oh, I knew it would come! I knew it! Obed Pence has been
so nasty of late. They were all drunk last night. Poor mother! Oh, what
shall we do, Oliver? What can we do? We can't get down to them!"
"And could do nothing if we did," he said tensely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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